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Be a Gangster (for your art)

10/9/2015

5 Comments

 

Thoughts on legitimacy.

In June of 2015, four months ago, I discovered something - I love to paint.

I discovered something else - I'm kind of good at it. Can I say that?

Thinking about the way my brain has changed (lyme effect), and how I am exploding with artistic expression these days, wondering why but not wondering too hard because I don't want to spoil it.

Also thinking that part of that change means I cannot remember details of the whys and the whats as I learn them. They will not be held in my mind.

​Reading Big Magic, still. and thinking about legitimacy.

I have a confession to make. I feel illegitimate as an artist. It's because I cannot hold a conversation with anyone about art, or artists, color or line, composition or any of the details other artists seem to hold so easily in their minds.

I do hold it all... just not in the part of my mind where the language lives. I hold it all... in the part of my mind where I create. 

Thinking about how Nasty Girl tells me not to bother learning about all the details, the whats and the whys. "What the hell?" She's so snarky with me. "You won't remember them anyway. You won't be able to talk about them while sipping champagne at an art opening, discussing the various styles and histories and all the rest. Don't bother." 

Nasty Girl is, as my grandmother used to say, full of pink tea.
​I'm not going to let her talk smack to me.. 

Liz Gilbert says to be a gangster for our art.
I like that. 

I choose gangster.
Anybody got a problem with that? 

I didn't think so.
5 Comments

What if Muses had Muses?

9/29/2015

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Aimlessly Wondering Big Magic Thoughts

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What if Muses had Muses?

Would it be possible to accidentally overhear them talking, picking up inspiration or ideas not meant for us, but for them? Have you ever hatched a new thought while you were deep in the middle of another? Maybe this is how that happens. Why not?

As I write this I am thinking about how, only a few seconds ago, my pen came to a fork in the road. There was a choice to be made - to record the thought I was on instead of a brand new one? I stayed the course and told the newcomer to sit still and wait. I would quickly finish my sentence and return with my pen to take dictation, but it left.

I cannot let it go so easily. Pausing here in my writing, I turn on one heel and chase this thought, going back to the fork in the road. I re-read what I was working on from the beginning, hoping to bump into it somewhere along the way, looking for something, anything, to trigger my memory just in case it wasn’t really gone.

Is she hiding? I wonder. Why not? Maybe rewriting the first sentence will coax her out laughing wildly, saying “Gotcha! Made you look!”

So, I retrace the path and rewrite every step, word by word.

Nothing.

I decide to read my words aloud, hoping to prod the thought back into my consciousness.

Nothing.


It. Is. Gone.

I move on, telling myself that if she wants to come back to me, she will, and promise to make note next time before she slips away. My wondering grew. If she was a whisper overheard, spoken to my Muse by her Muse as they walked along the path, she won't be back because she wasn't even mine to have. Hey, it could happen. I believe in my Muse, so why would I deny she may have a Muse of her own? And, by what logic would I conclude that they don’t speak to each other?

As long as I’m wondering, why not wonder if a person could have more than one Muse visit at the same time? Not a Muse for the Muse, but two muses... each for them. For me? That could make for a very busy, less than peaceful, mind.

The busy mind can feel a lot like a shoe clearance with everyone grabbing up a wide assortment of shoes at rock bottom prices. The flurry of shoppers are all vying for the attention of one haggard salesperson milling around with the required smile, skillfully balancing a tower of last season's shoe boxes in one hand, passing out nylon footsies with the other, and suddenly blurting into her thick head of dark brown hair (outing her bluetooth device to the store manager, passing by) “I don’t KNOW where your Elsa T-shirt is! Ask Jenny to help you- I’m at work!”  

The busy mind. Sometimes it’s not even a nice place to visit.

There is another way to look at it, though. Maybe it’s not an end of the season shoe sale but a Muse convention. Maybe the Muses are dragging around wheeled duffle bags full of ideas and they are aching to show us how to bring them forth. Maybe we can’t make our busy minds cease all busy-ness. Maybe, if we knew better, we wouldn’t want to.

Here’s what I want to do - create a soul space, a private internal spa, open 24/7. I’ll bring my Muse along for some chamomile tea and a hot rock massage and we can get to know each other better. She will share, in detail, the idea she has for me, I'll try it on for size, color, and adrenalin reaction. Then we'll negotiate an understanding about who does what if I decide to commit while sipping cucumber infused spring water.

As for the thought that got away, it stands to reason that if she was for me, and I need her, she’ll be back. In the meantime, I’ll learn to become a better note taker, a shorthand maker, and a master of grabbing tiny details that will jog my memory later. Practice is the only way to get better at this, so that’s what I intend to do. Practice. Notice. Capture more thoughts.

I’ve been reading BIG MAGIC: Creative Living Beyond Fear. If you want to understand why all of this has anything to do with that, please pick up a copy and treat yourself to Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest book. Big Magic is why it suddenly feels okay let my wild ideas breathe freely. If some folks think I've finally gone over the edge it will be my sign that I must be on the right track.

Other posts inspired by Big Magic, specifically MAGIC LESSONS:

Creativity and Midwifery and Letting Shame Go
Creativity and the Evolution of a Song

It Wants to be Wildfire
 


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Creativity and Midwifery and Letting Shame Go

9/17/2015

3 Comments

 
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This has been consuming my thoughts since last night. It's a quote from Brené Brown on Magic Lessons #12, with Elizabeth Gilbert. "My creativity requires Midwifery" lead me to telling myself how easily shame can emerge when we share our work. Mine does, anyway. From the far away corner of my mind, there it is. But lasst night I had a new response to it. Shame - you are dead to me! The feeling of letting go of shame was with me as I waited for sleep. 

When sleep finally came, I dreamed I was dying. All night long, the same dream, dying over and over. Dying? Why? I even remember, in my dream, a vague awareness of the dreamstate, and thought it was odd. Like a toddler who will not stop repeating MOMMY until you stop and respond, it kept repeating itself, over and over again. 

There were tiles and letters painted in the corners. They were red or yellow, off and on, one or the other. White. There was a lot of white, too. I wasn't scared or sad, Just watching, and for some reason, feeling relieved. 

Morning came and I looked back with curiosity on my dreams. What did it all mean- and Why wasn't I scared? What were my dreams telling me? 

Midwifery helps bring life into the world. Let's say the word life represents the result (or fruit) of any creative force. Feeling bad, embarrassed, or ashamed about bringing that life out into the world can lead to letting it die - and I am so madly in love with my newfound art that I refuse to let shame destroy it. I think my dream was trying to tell me that I am finally letting shame die. It's had a death grip on the corner of my shirt every time I run to Facebook and share my creations. I need to let die that ugly little voice that has been whispering in my ear 'leave them alone - you are driving them crazy with this stuff! Enough! Stop it with the Donna Show!'

Part of the joy in creating the paintings is showing them. Not just because people are so sweet and kind and even excited, but because I just can't freaking believe how much fun it is! There is also an element of shock, because until 4 months ago, I had no idea I was artistic.

When Brené Brown said those words, it was like a clap of thunder. I thought of my friends on social media and here in the flesh who cheer me on and knew - THEY ARE MY MIDWIVES!!! Everyone who helps me by allowing me to simply bring this art into the world with joy... THEY are my midwives. 

It's not that I couldn't do it without them, but I wouldn't. They are part of my joy. 

These last several years have forced me to completely rethink who I am, why I am, and what it is I can offer the world. I feel new. Reborn. When my career died, I thought there was nothing left. I thought that's all I was. My midwives are helping me discover who I am.

My creativity requires midwifery. Maybe I'll have it tattooed across my forehead, backwards, so that I'll be reminded whenever I pass by a mirror.

#BigMagic

3 Comments
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    Writing is how I figure things out along the winding path.. I love company, so thanks for stopping by. I hope you'll share your thoughts, too. The comment boxes are always open.

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